Текст книги "Peacemaker"

Jase-aiji had come to call—Cajeiri had heard the coming and going, and Jegari’s quiet spying had found out that Jase-aiji was talking with Great-uncle, who had been having visitors all morning—political visitors, Jegari said, because of everything that was going on in the Guild.

It was the Conservative Caucus coming and going. Cajeiri knew what that was: Great-uncle was head of it, and Great-grandmother was part of it, or at least—people in it listened to Great-grandmother; but Great-grandmother was busy and Great-uncle was doing all the talking, and thus far his own aishid had kept trying to get information with very little success—except to say that there had been a very serious matter downtown, at Guild Headquarters, and that there was another Ajuri dead—in this case, the old man that had been so much trouble to everybody.

He was not sorry to hear that confirmed. He was worried that Banichi and nand’ Bren had come back wounded, he was glad to hear that they were not in hospital, and he really, really wanted to go to nand’ Bren’s apartment and just see them.

But Madam Saidin had said definitely they were all right, and that nand’ Bren was back at work and busy with business of his own.

But that the Guild might be straightening itself out, and that they had gotten rid of their problem—that was good news.

And if nand’ Bren really was at work, he could not be too badly hurt. So he had sent a message by one of Great-uncle’s staff, asking if everybody was all right and was Banichi hurt? And he had an answer back by the same servant, assuring him that Banichi had just had his original wound giving him trouble and that nand’ Bren just had a headache and a little cut.

He felt a lot better, then.

And if it was not for the letter from his father, he would have been a great deal relieved.

But there was a good thing. Madam Saidin had said they could have the dining room all to themselves this evening, since Great-uncle was invited to mani’s apartment for supper, and the staff would only have them to care for. They could have any dish they could describe. They could even have pizza if that was what they most wanted.

Meanwhile, Great-uncle kept up the meetings, having his bodyguard bring up this person and that person to take tea in the sitting room. One wondered how Great-uncle could drink any more . . . but it went on and on.

Politics. Politics. The Conservatives were the opposite of the liberals most of the time, and they constantly argued with his father.

Everybody would be there, he reminded himself, to wish him well.

No. They would be there to wish he would someday be favorable to what they represented. And if he would not be, they would wish he would never have been born. And still smile and bow to him.

Grown-ups were very good at that.

His father had said once, not so many days ago, something he remembered very keenly, “If you cannot please someone, at least make them believe you might please them.”

“How does one do that with everybody?” he had asked.

“You ask them their opinion,” his father had said, “you listen to it, and you nod and say something good about one thing in their idea.”

“But what if there is nothing good?” he had asked, and for some reason his father had laughed and then said:

“If there is not, then offer them a doorway from their way to your way.”

He had not understood. He had frowned. And his father had said:

“To do that, son of mine—you have to understand both sides.”

That was a little different than Great-grandmother, who said, when he told her what his father had said, “Doorway, is it? Offer them tea, nod politely, charm them, make them think you might agree, and let them modify their position to persuade you. It usually comes to the same thing, but they think they devised the compromise.”

He so hoped he could be that clever someday. But his father and mani had a long head start.

At least with Jase-aiji he had no such worries. Jase-aiji was on the side of the ship-humans getting along with atevi, and Jase-aiji knew atevi customs. Jase-aiji would help his guests put on a very good appearance for a whole roomful of people who had never seen young humans—more, some who had no desire to have humans on the continent at all.

And Madam Saidin was helping, too, to teach them the right phrases.

Even his mother seemed to have taken an interest in Irene—though he was still suspicious, and he especially remembered her pointed remark that it was a good thing somebody asked Irene’s mother.

And he hoped they could all just continue to stay with Great-uncle. It actually seemed Great-uncle enjoyed having his guests in his premises, once Great-uncle had discovered his guests were in awe of his house and his porcelains and his collections. He had never imagined Great-uncle was that easy to charm.

Maybe it was that doorway his father had talked about . . .

So now Great-uncle and Jase-aiji were in the sitting room finding a lot to talk about, after all the others who had visited Great-uncle this morning. Jase-aiji stayed three times as long as most of the Conservatives had, and Veijico said they were talking very seriously about the space station and his guests’ parents.

Well, that was a little scary. What did Great-uncle have to do with the space station at all?

But then Madam Saidin came into the guest suite and said Great-uncle wanted them all to come in the sitting room.

So everybody put on day-coats and made sure of their cuffs and collars, and they all filed out and up to join Great-uncle and nand’ Jase in the sitting room.

One so hoped nothing bad had happened.

They sat, very properly while Great-uncle had them all served tea, and they sat and sipped and listened to Great-uncle make small talk with Jase-aiji.

Then Great-uncle asked casually, “Are you finding everything you need, nephew?” to which the only possible answer was yes.

Then Great-uncle asked, “Do your guests understand what we say?”

“Only about food and clothes, Great-uncle, and the things in your collection. And mecheiti, Great-uncle.”

Great-uncle gave a little laugh, saying: “We hope they may need such words again, nephew.” That set Cajeiri’s heart to beating faster. Then Great-uncle immediately added, “but there are necessary gates to pass. You understand this.”

“Yes, Great-uncle, one does understand. Father sent me a list. I have been studying all the guests. Father will send me a speech to make. It will not be hard. I shall do everything without a mistake.”

“Wise lad,” Great-uncle said.

And that seemed the only point of Great-uncle’s having them there or talking to them at all, which seemed odd. Great-uncle left the apartment, going about his own grown-up business with Great-grandmother and the Conservatives, maybe down the hall in mani’s apartment.

But Jase-aiji stayed behind and explained the arrangements to Gene and Artur and Irene in some detail, telling them that they were to stay very close to him, that they were to bow and thank anyone who wished them well, and be patient with people who might just stand and stare at them. They had already understood that, for the most part, but they listened very solemnly, and agreed that they would be ready for Jase-aiji and his bodyguard to gather them up and escort them down to the festivity.

So it was all just preparation for the festivity, and it was going to happen, and Great-uncle had just called them in for Jase-aiji to meet with them and explain procedures to be absolutely sure his guests understood. That was good.

Cajeiri stood by and listened to the explanation, reminding himself of ship-speak words, learning a few new ones, and meanwhile he kept thinking—

He kept thinking Great-uncle had hinted that there might—there might be a hope of going back to Tirnamardi before his guests had to leave. He was not sure his guests had understood that. He was not sure he ought to tell them, if Jase-aiji failed to mention it, for fear it was only an idle remark and would not happen. Great-uncle’s hint was the sort of thing adults said when they were trying to get someone to behave—what was it his father had said to him?

Make them believe you might please them . . .

It was interesting how well that worked, even on him, even when it was clear as could be what the adults were doing to them.

He had to do everything well—to have even a chance of getting what he most wanted.

That was the way things always worked in politics.

 · · ·

Sleep, granted a settled stomach and a sense that things were moderately under control, was actually possible—finally, for the whole rest of the afternoon. Bren surfaced from time to time, listened for any noise in the household that might signal a problem, and drifted again, face down. Jase had taken word on the Topari meeting down the hall to Lord Tatiseigi, head of that caucus, and also to the dowager, who needed to know, and thirdly to Tabini himself—keeping everyone abreast of the little problem which one hoped would not blossom into a big problem before Lord Tatiseigi could talk to several of his most level-headed associates. The Conservative Caucus was briefed about the taped record of the Kadagidi encounter. They would have the chance to view it; and they would form a recommendation on the situation in Ajuri and the situation in the Kadagidi lordship.

The dowager would call in some of the Liberal Caucus and do her own damage control—Dur, in particular, would have some constructive opinions on the Ajuri situation, being part of the local landscape, and in a neighboring association. The Liberals would by no means object: the Liberals would all but hold a celebration at the notion the Kadagidi were being taken to task.

The aiji-consort, meanwhile, was bound to have a personal opinion about the future of Ajuri clan. He’d warned Jase to tread particularly carefully during his visit to Tabini’s apartment, avoiding any contact with Damiri, and to be wary of any setup in the Festivity involving any contact of the children with Damiri. Damiri needed to be involved in planning the Festivity, and she was also well aware of the upheaval in her clan. That marriage had been under stress enough, and Damiri, who had a temper, did not do well with surprises. Whether the demise of Shishogi had made her situation easier or worse—had yet to be proved.

He shut his eyes. He slept the sleep of the moderately just.

And he waked finally with Narani’s gentle presence in the room, turning on the lights.

“Nandi. An invitation from the dowager, for brandy after dinner, or for dinner, if you find yourself in sufficient health for such an event. Jase-aiji and nand’ Tatiseigi are also invited.”

“One hears,” he murmured—there was time enough to get ready for a formal dinner, he was sure, or Narani would not have waked him; but there would not be all that much time, either, granted Narani would not have waked him any earlier than need be. He carefully levered himself up on his arms and put a foot over the edge of the mattress. Two feet—and he set himself upright very carefully.

The headache was indeed still there. More pills were in order.

Perhaps an appeal to Port Jackson for a gross of them.

“Banichi has waked,” Narani informed him, “and he says he is feeling better.”

“Is he following nand’ Siegi’s orders?”

“Somewhat, nandi.”

Somewhat. He drew in a deep breath, set his feet on the ground, and said, “Thank you, Rani-ji.”

He didn’t wait for his valets. He put on his robe and headed down the hall barefoot, straight for the security station, where, indeed, Banichi sat—in uniform, shirtless, but having a heavy uniform jacket draped about his shoulders. The arm was, yes, still taped, Bren noticed critically. But boots were on, hair was in its queue, and Banichi was sitting there upright.

“Is this approved, nadiin?” Bren asked.

“It seemed we would do more harm stopping him,” Tano said.

“Of the two of us,” Banichi said, looking at him, “I seem to be faring better at the moment.”

Barefoot, in his dressing robe, with his hair disheveled and with a brutal headache, Bren said, perhaps a bit shortly, “The dowager has invited me down the hall to dinner tonight. I shall need two attendants, amid all the others who will be present. One of them will not be you, Nichi-ji, and no amount of argument will convince me. You will not need your dress uniform.”

Banichi nodded graciously. And was amused.

“He believes, however,” Jago said, “that he will be in the escort at the young gentleman’s Festivity.”

“The young gentleman,” Banichi said, “would be disappointed otherwise.”

One entirely understood that point: the youngster had regarded Banichi as a second father, during the ship voyage—not to say Banichi had declined the attachment. Banichi would be sorely disappointed to be kept from that event.

“That will be a considerable time standing,” Bren said, not happily; and looked to the others. It could not be the first time a Guild member had been on duty while injured. “Is there a way he can sit down?”

“The service hall,” Algini said. “We can arrange a chair to be there . . . granted his sincere undertaking to use it from time to time.”

“You will use it,” Bren said to Banichi. “Are we agreed?”

“Two chairs,” Banichi said.

He and Banichi were, in fact, a matched set; and an available chair during three hours of standing about, in the case the room started to go around, sounded more than sensible.

“One agrees,” he said, wondering whether his entire aishid had just collectively put one over on him.

 · · ·

“We are,” the dowager said after dinner, “hearing good things within the Guild. They are finding the things we fully expected them to find, and perhaps one or two things that surprise us. They are sifting records. They are interviewing reliable people and looking for other people they should be looking for. My grandson may complain about the individuals now in charge there, but they are setting things to rights.”

It was good news.

“In the matter of Lord Aseida’s future,” Ilisidi continued, swirling brandy gently in her glass, “we have a reasonable situation in mind, a small house under the supervision of the very strong-willed lady of Corhenda, a subclan of Cie, a very practical-minded place. It has electricity, but phones are scarce. Its mills and tanneries are a blight, but then it always was barren. His artistic skills—we are told he paints—might enliven the house—perhaps the mills, who knows the limits of his talent? As for who should succeed him in the Kadagidi lordship, nand’ Tatiseigi has a proposal.”

“A modest one,” Tatiseigi said. “He is a Kadagidi gentleman, a third cousin of mine, from the old union of our house with Kadagidi clan. He is ten years my senior, fifteen years retired—he ran the largest Kadagidi granary and the northern plains operations. He is a respectable fellow, never politically active, and what one might call a dedicated administrator. He has, besides, three daughters, and the eldest is a member of the Scholars’ Guild. One believes he would only reluctantly undertake the burden of the lordship—but in order to put his eldest daughter in the line of that succession, he might; her husband is a quiet fellow, affable, whose skill is hunting management: he would not be a bad neighbor.”

“If ever asked,” Bren said with a little nod, “which one hardly expects to be—one would certainly support your opinion, nandi.”

“Pish,” the dowager said. “Nand’ Siegi says we should not keep the paidhi too late tonight. You should go straight to bed, paidhi.”

“Aiji-ma.” Another careful nod.

“Go. You are entirely void of entertainment tonight, paidhi, and you need your sleep.”

One had somewhat suspected it was not his somewhat cheerless and aching company the dowager had desired this evening, but that her aishid and his and Lord Tatiseigi’s should all be in close contact for an hour or so.

And indeed, once he had left the sitting room and gathered up Jago and Algini, there was a somberness about his bodyguard that said he was right in that guess.

They left the apartment, the three of them. They walked down the main hall to their own door, and, once inside:

“Is there news, nadiin-ji?” he asked.

“There is news we should share with Banichi and Tano,” Algini said. “Do not worry about it, Bren-ji.”

“That is hardly going to allow me to rest,” he protested. Narani had let them in; Narani waited to receive his coat, and he unbuttoned the coat and let it slip from his arms. “I shall worry all night.”

“If we do tell you,” Jago said, “you will not rest, either.”

He looked at her. “Tell me, nadiin-ji. I request it.”

“This is a security concern,” Jago said, “but, Bren-ji, this is a Guild matter, and now we have Guild Headquarters operating as it has not, not even in our lifetimes. Have confidence in us.”